Dante gave a shrug. "I'm not sure. I only know that when she would return, I would avoid the house for days. It was very… distinctive."
Abby pondered for a long moment. "A butcher shop? Or tannery?"
He lifted his brows at her naive words. "I would recognize the scent of blood, my sweet."
"Oh… right. What about an oil refinery or stockyard?"
"No, it was more like a rotting field of wheat."
She frowned. Dante didn't blame her. Even for a powerful vampire, a vague smell that he couldn't even identify was hardly much to go on. MacGyver he was not.
Then, without warning, she reached out to grasp his arm in a tight grip.
"Oh my God."
Instantly on alert, Dante glanced about to ensure they were not under attack. "What is it?"
"I know where it is," she breathed.
"The coven?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Years ago, my oldest brother worked at the cereal factory," she explained. "When he would return, the entire house would reek of rotted wheat for hours."
There was rotted wheat in cereal? Hellfire. How dare humans shudder at vampires' preference for blood? At least he demanded it distinctly unrotted.
'It's worth a try," he concluded. "Which direction?"
"South."
Gunning the engine, Dante turned the car southward. There was no guarantee that the coven would be near the factory, but it was at least a place to start.
As silence once again descended, Dante shot a covert glance toward the woman at his side. On this occasion, Abby wasn't guzzling the potent herbs or humming in a pleasant cloud of fog. Instead her brow was furrowed, and she chewed upon her lower lip as if she were in deep thought.
With an effort, he resisted the urge to demand what was on her mind. If he had learned nothing else about this woman over the past few months, it was that she could write a thesis on stubbornness. She would reveal what she wanted to reveal, when she wanted to reveal it.
It was twenty minutes later before she at last turned her head to study him with a troubled expression.
"Dante?"
"Yes?"
"Viper seemed angry when you spoke with him earlier."
Dante abruptly clenched his fingers on the steering wheel. He had presumed that Abby had been far too occupied with ensuring none of the guests were creeping toward her neck to notice his confrontation with his fellow vampire. It seemed that not even a hotel filled with vampires and demons indulging in orgies could keep her properly distracted.
"He wasn't overly eager to hand over the keys to his favorite Porsche," he retorted in light tones. "He can be annoyingly possessive of his toys."
"No." She gave a decisive shake of her head. "I don't believe you."
"Rather harsh, lover," he protested.
"He didn't want you to take me to the coven. Why?"
Dante muttered a low curse. Damn Viper and his poor imitation of a mother hen.